


The One Where Werewolves Save the Museum

by anais_ninja



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Law Enforcement, M/M, Undercover, White Collar Crime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-05
Updated: 2014-03-05
Packaged: 2018-01-14 15:00:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1270777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anais_ninja/pseuds/anais_ninja
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a minor heist, but minor is sort of relative when you're talking about the Smithsonian.  The suspect is good looking, so Stiles thinks he should go undercover to get a little intel for his werewolfy colleagues.  Derek doesn't really like this plan, but in the end he can't say no.  Not ever.</p>
<p>Told from Boyd's point of view of his stubborn, silly coworkers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One Where Werewolves Save the Museum

**Author's Note:**

> howlnatural said on tumblr: Dammit now I want some kind of werewolves-are-known spy/heist/FBI/espionage au where Stiles, as the human, has to flirt his way in somewhere or they’re conning someone and okay, the mark is pretty hot, so it’s not exactly hard for Stiles to lean into their space and lick his lips and stare at their mouth and talk all low and smooth but Derek’s watching from some van nearby or a hotel room across the street with Boyd - who simply raises an eyebrow at the fact that Derek is keeping calm and professional and sounding like a great strategist while speaking into Stiles’ earpiece with only a tight croak to his voice, despite the fact that he’s turned fourteen pencils into kindling and his eyes have been glowing blue since the second Stiles unbuttoned his shirt collar.
> 
> So I tried to make that happen. In a way. Sort of. Don't hate me for ruining a good fic idea.

What a lot of people don’t know about the Smithsonian is that it is shockingly easy to rip off.  It’s like a bike with training wheels for little baby conmen.  Meet a registration intern on a dating website.  Drug her.  Clone her access card.  Get her home safely, and she probably wouldn’t even know to call the cops.  Enter the museum during an evening event.  Swipe in.  Make off with a sack full of Tuareg jewelry.

The guy would have pulled it off too, if that same intern hadn’t been doing inventory the very next day and had enough sense to put some of it together.  Her hangovers were never that bad, and the guy had been way too interested in talking about storage furniture.

Agent Boyd thought it would be an easy case.  They found the suspect easily enough through his online dating account.  Fucking amateur had used a fake name to set up the account, but had used his real credit card at the internet café.  It was like he had never seen an episode of Law & Order.  Granted, this only really linked him back to the intern, but it was all about links in a chain.  Forge the links, follow the chain, build the case, make it airtight.  That’s what Agent Hale had taught him.

But it was Agent Hale that had him worried at the moment.

All they needed was a clean sample of a scent to tie him to the scent Hale and Boyd had found at the crime scene, but somehow Agent Stilinski had gotten involved.  This was his convoluted plan, and it had Hale’s eyes glowing blue and his fists shattering pencil after pencil.  They were in a van parked down 14th Street from a hip restaurant, where Stilinski was having drinks with the suspect and trying to pick up something with his scent on it.  It seemed to be taking a long time and a lot of flirting.

Earlier in the week, Boyd had proposed tailing the guy and bumping into him on the Metro to pick up his scent, but then Stilinski had wandered by and looked over Hale’s shoulder at the file.  He had actually done a double take at the picture attached.  Thus, Operation Let Me Just Rub Up Against HIM had begun.  Boyd had rolled his eyes.  Agents Reyes and Lahey had laughed.  But Hale could never say no to Stilinski.

So here they were.  Boyd and Hale and a whole lot of pencil shrapnel.  It was probably a fire hazard at this point.

Hale’s eyes were burning holes into the screen showing the feed from Stilinski’s glasses-cam.  He kept relaying instructions into Stilinski’s earpiece in a steady, if tight, voice.  It was weird hearing Hale command Stilinski to give the guy a smile, especially when he added, “you know, the saucy one.”  Little did Boyd know that it would only get worse as the night wore on.

There were orders to giggle, with a little snort if possible.  Orders to lick the rim of the glass.  Orders to blush, as though Stilinski was even that good.

Agent Boyd made the foolish mistake of getting his hopes up when Hale sat forward and said, “good, now touch the inside of his elbow;” it sounded like the contact they might need to pick up the scent, but then Agent Hale finished with, “just of a second, then look up through your eyelashes.”

This wasn’t just another round of teasing the human by making him work for evidence the wolves could have gathered in mere minutes.  This was punishment.  Whether for Hale or Stilinski, Boyd didn’t know.  Maybe it was for both.  Everyone knew they were half-way in love with each other and wouldn’t admit it.  Stilinski, for all his noise and bravado, was crushed by insecurity.  Hale wouldn’t abide a broach of agency rules about fraternization.

The last straw for Hale must have come as Stilinski shared dessert with the mark because as the human said, “oh, you’ve got some—,” Hale demanded, “wipe his mouth with your napkin and get the fuck back here.”  Then he stormed out of the van.  Stilinski’s voice faltered badly, but he managed to do as he was told, entering the van with Hale and the napkin.

Stilinski was rambling about something Boyd couldn’t quite follow, as Hale shoved the napkin—replete with scent—into a plastic evidence bag.  It would be analyzed by no less than five wolf agents at the lab, but Boyd could already tell they had the guy dead to rights.  Hale cut Stilinski off, saying, “Boyd, you can go home.  I’m taking Agent Stilinski back to the office for debriefing.”

Boyd tried to convey ‘is that what we’re calling it now?’ with his eyebrows.  It must have worked because Hale’s frown darkened.  Boyd went ahead and left the van.

But he circled back after eating some of that ice cream he had seen Stilinski and the conman order.  It was delicious—all chocolatey and thickened with pig’s blood.  It was almost as delicious as walking past the gently rocking van and hearing Stilinski’s gasping, “wait, wait, wait, my apartment is just up the street.”

“Fine,” Hale growled back.

Boyd rushed to hide in a doorway, and hoped against hope that Hale was too distracted to sense him.  And if he watched them grope and kiss and giggle up the street toward Logan Circle, then it was just for his own debriefing with Reyes later that night.


End file.
